Before sunrise, the academy grounds were still shrouded in a thin blanket of mist—pale, bluish, and cold enough that each breath I exhaled drifted like smoke. Everyone else was still resting after the intensity of Trial Two. But I had no time for rest. I had chosen the difficult quest, and that meant preparation.
New Gear, New Look
My first stop was the marketplace. Most stalls were closed at this hour, but the larger merchant houses were already awake, catering to adventurers and travelers. I bought what I needed: thick winter gear, insulated gloves, boots padded with frost-resistant lining, and a cloak of dense wool that absorbed heat like it was made for the north.
Then I bought new clothes—black, clean, and fitting properly. My previous set was practically rags from all the training, tears lining nearly every fold. When I looked at myself in a polished brass mirror—dark cloak layered over black travel garments—I actually looked like someone capable. Someone dangerous.
A Borrowed Steed
Next, I secured a horse. The one Count Arenbelle had given me originally belonged to the Lionhearth Cavaliers. Returning it was mandatory. So I rented a beautiful mare—tall, proud, snow-white. Her mane shimmered like frost. Perfect for the cold regions ahead.
I mounted her, rode through the northern gate, passed the city's stone walls, and finally entered the winding dirt road heading toward Frostveil Forest.
The wind grew colder with every hour. Snowflakes dotted the air, drifting lazily. The sky was gray.
That's when I saw it—a large building off to the side of the road.
The Roadhouse
A roadhouse. Bigger than an inn, smaller than a fortress. A place for travelers to rest, drink, or disappear.
I guided my horse to a post and walked inside.
The moment I pushed open the wooden doors, the atmosphere shifted.
Dozens of eyes locked onto me.
Men drinking. Women sharpening weapons. Mercenaries. Hunters. Wanderers. The smell of alcohol and cooked meat filled the air.
I couldn't tell whether the stares were hostile, curious, or just bored. I kept walking.
I sat at the counter and ordered a cold beverage and a steak.
As I waited, I overheard voices behind me.
"…Frostveil forest. That's our next mark."
"So we move out in an hour?"
"Yeah. Ravens don't sit around."
I turned slightly.
Seven people sat around a large round table. All wore black cloaks. All bore the same insignia: a raven with wings spread wide.
A mercenary guild. And this was one of their units—The Black Ravens.
Their members:
Aeralyn – Fiery red hair, with a sharp fan.
Elunari – Calm, silver-haired mage with sharp eyes.
Maerith – A tall woman with a spear strapped to her back
Sora – Wiry archer, quiet but alert.
Raelan – Bruiser, big build, big weapon.
Teralin – Healer and support, softly spoken.
Rheos – Their leader. Black hair. Black armor. A presence that made others instinctively step aside.
None of them noticed me at first.
Not until my steak arrived—apparently the server placed it directly behind Rheos' outstretched arm, and our hands nearly touched.
He turned.
Our eyes met.
I froze.
For a moment, the world felt still.
Rheos stared at me, studying me—not with hostility, but with curiosity. His gaze flicked to the sword at my hip, to my clothes, to my posture.
"…You're heading north?" he asked bluntly.
"Yeah."
"To Frostveil?"
"Yes."
"Alone?"
I nodded.
That seemed to amuse him.
Dragged Into a New Path
Next thing I knew, they invited me—no, dragged me—into their conversation. They peppered me with questions. Where I was going. Why. What quest I had. If I needed coin. If I could fight.
They assumed I was a poor wandering swordsman looking for work.
I didn't correct them.
They offered me a temporary job, pulled me into the guild hall attached to the roadhouse, and before I realized what was happening, they slapped a mercenary identification seal onto the back of my hand.
"Welcome to the Black Ravens, kid," Aeralyn said with a grin.
"I didn't say yes," I muttered.
"Your face did," Maerith said, patting me on the back.
And that was that.
I became…a mercenary.
At least temporarily.
Monsters of the Snow Road
We departed together, heading north.
The landscape turned from dirt and grass to snow and jagged ice. The temperature dropped drastically; even with my cloak, I felt it creeping into my bones.
Then—howls.
Not wolves.
Something deeper. Heavier.
"Brace yourselves!" Rheos shouted.
From behind a mound of snow, towering shapes emerged.
Frostfang Brutes—massive, ape-like beasts with white fur, icy tusks, and claws sharp enough to tear steel. And with them—
Shiverlings—thin, spider-like creatures that skittered across the snow with unnatural speed.
The Ravens drew weapons.
I drew mine.
The Brutes roared and charged.
The Battle
Raelan met the first brute with a two-handed swing, the shockwave rattling snow off the trees. Aeralyn danced under a Shivering's legs and slit its throat. Elunari unleashed spells that exploded in bursts of blue flame.
I focused on the nearest Frostfang.
It lunged—massive arm sweeping toward me.
I ducked under the swing, rolled across the snow, and sliced along its ribs. My blade cut deep, but not deep enough—it barely slowed.
Then a Shiverling launched at me from behind.
I pivoted, slicing upward—splitting it in half before it reached my face.
The Frostfang pounded its chest and swung again.
This time I didn't dodge backwards.
I stepped in.
Close.
Too close.
The creature couldn't adjust its strike.
My blade pierced its heart.
It collapsed, shaking the ground.
But another brute charged me immediately—faster, smarter.
I countered its first blow with my shoulder, using the momentum to spin behind its back, then stabbed into the base of its neck.
It screamed, flailing wildly.
Snow exploded.
Ice cracked.
I tore my blade free and leapt back as the massive beast fell.
Rheos, who had been fighting two at once, looked toward me.
His eyes widened a fraction.
"…You're skilled," he said.
I didn't answer—I was catching my breath.
The End of the Fight
It took nearly fifteen minutes of brutal combat, but eventually the last Shiverling fell, twitching in the snow.
The Ravens regrouped, panting.
Raelan slapped my shoulder so hard I stumbled.
"Kid—you fight better than half the guild!"
Aeralyn's eyes sparkled. "You sure you're not secretly famous?"
Elunari crossed her arms, observing me. "Your technique resembles trained knights. Who exactly taught you?"
I hesitated.
The less they knew, the better.
"I learned from surviving."
It wasn't a lie.
Rheos approached me last.
He looked at me—really looked. As if he could see through every layer I wore.
"That wasn't beginner swordplay," he said quietly. "You're not normal."
I shrugged. "Didn't claim to be."
He grinned faintly.
"I like you, Rain."
My chest tightened. I didn't expect to hear that from anyone on this trip.
"Stay with us until Frostveil," Rheos said. "We work better when we know we can trust the person beside us."
I agreed—not because I needed them, but because I needed to avoid suspicion. Going completely solo after being dragged into their group would raise questions.
And besides…
Part of me didn't hate the company.
Toward Frostveil
So we continued north.
Seven mercenaries.
And one trainee bound for the most dangerous trial of the year.